


A Man Without A Country

by AmandaCritelliWestphal



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Every time I write Tater he sounds like Evgeni Malkin I'm so sorry, Gen, He has some Real Good teammates, Kent Parson's Personal Growth, M/M, so very, very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaCritelliWestphal/pseuds/AmandaCritelliWestphal
Summary: Kent just wants to continue growing as a person. Luckily, a few key trades help him on his journey to becoming a Real Boy.





	A Man Without A Country

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mouse (clandestineAbattoir)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clandestineAbattoir/gifts).



> This is...incredibly soft. Like, with the exception of some salty language, this is the most G-rated wholesome thing I've ever written, I think. Because Parse deserves good and kind things.

Kent exited the GM’s office, his polite, engaged expression melting away into a blank mask while he processed the news of the trade. Carl was leaving, in a convoluted three-team trade that gave the Aces a draft pick from New Jersey and Alexei Mashkov. From Jack’s team. 

As far as Carl leaving; well, good riddance to homophobic rubbish, Kent figured. Ever since Jack had come out, Carl had been nigh on insufferable. And Kent wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable-a handful of teammates had added Kent to a group chat to discuss how to handle the situation. Swoops had called Carl’s latest bullshit “tired and unimaginative” and then everyone else in the chat grumbled about favoritism when Kent took him out for a steak afterwards. 

But Mashkov. Kent still had some mixed feelings about that particular acquisition. It was partly because, well, Mashkov had been Jack’s teammate. They had been friends, and while Kent hoped Jack hadn’t been shittalking him, he couldn’t assume Mashkov knew nothing about their history, especially since they all seemed to know Jack and his boyfriend were together long before that last game. 

The other part of that apprehension was based on the stunning, badly timed spark of interest Kent had felt when Mashkov had hauled him up by his collar after Kent had lost his edge rushing the net. Which honestly had been an accident, but then Mashkov was there yelling at him in Russian and shaking him and any thought of apologizing flew out of his head. 

Probably shouldn't dwell too much on that though, Kent thought. He'd bring it up next week with Doctor Schenk and move on so he could be ready to focus on preseason and his plans for that.

 

Summer training went by quickly between the daily struggle to bulk up enough to be ready for what would hopefully be a very long hockey season and keeping an eye on the commentary regarding Zimms. There were, predictably, various professional asshats bemoaning the “gay infiltration of the Good Canadian Institution” and “the end of hockey as we know it,” but for every talking head preceding comments with “no offense to those kind of people, but” there were articles and interviews from retired players, hosts, and sports journalists praising Zimmermann for stepping up and taking on the role of First Out Player. Three retired players talked openly about their own non-heterosexuality. It also didn’t hurt that Bittle was camera-friendly, photogenic, and a serious athlete in his own right as the first openly gay NCAA Division 1 team captain. 

With Carl gone, and knowing how most of his team felt, Kent decided it was time to take a risk. 

The first team skate of the preseason had just ended, and guys milled around the locker room, catching up and back-slapping hellos and chirping each other. Kent stood on the bench in front of his stuff and cleared his throat.

“Hey Cap!” Swoops cheered, and a half-dozen or so of the guys joined in, while the others sat down in their stalls and turned to pay attention.

“It’s uh, it’s great to see you all again. I know we’ve lost some guys, but we’ve got new faces here too, and we’re happy you new guys are here.

Unless you live under a rock, you guys all know what happened this summer. You’ve seen the coverage. You’ve heard what some people-some former Aces even-have to say about it.”

Kent paused, and took in some scowling faces. He was 99% sure they were scowling for the right reasons. He took a deep breath.  
“I’ve talked to some of you about what is and isn’t acceptable behavior. About what does and doesn’t have a place in this locker room, on this team, or out there on the ice. For the rest of you, and for the new guys: we’re family here. Not even our whole team, but other teams too. Every guy out there is just another guy who wants to play the best hockey they can just like you do. So I don’t want to hear about any of you saying or doing anything that might even imply that there’s anything wrong with Zimmermann or the Falcs or any of the other gay or bi or anything remotely not straight guys on other teams. And I sure as hell don’t want to hear it in here. Not just because I expect you to be decent fucking human beings, but also because I’m gay. Just statistically, you guys have played with queer teammates since you first laced up your skates, and it never made a single difference because you probably never even knew it. So don’t let it make a difference now.”

Kent hopped down with a confidence that belied the anxiety welling up within him and sat down, looking over the faces of his team. 

The was a beat or two of silence, and Kent was worrying he had miscalculated the risk, when Parker slung an arm over his shoulders and barked out to the rest of the team,

“You heard the Cap. Play hockey, don’t be assholes, no problem.”

One of the callups stepped forward, with a disgusted look on his face.

“It’s wrong though,” he said, lip curled. “God doesn’t like-”

“Eriksson,” Swoops interrupted, “are you a virgin?”

Erikkson spluttered and turned red.

“Do you play when we have games on Sundays? Do you go out with the team and get drunk? Do you try to convert your teammates into followers of Christ?”

“No, that’s not-”

“It seems,” Swoops continued, sending a hard look around the room to everyone watching the trainwreck unfold, “that the only time you’ve worried about what your faith says God likes is right now, this very moment, when our captain has trusted us with his personal life. So you should have no problem separating your faith from your ability to be a good teammate and a good athlete in this instance. Since you’ve had so much practice at it.”

Swoops made eye contact with everyone.

“Any more questions? Good. I’m fuckin’ starving, can we go now Cap?”

Kent cleared his throat and replied, “Yeah, go on and get outta here, I’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon. Denny wants to focus on special teams tomorrow, so be ready.”

With that, Kent turned to face his stall, busying himself with getting his things together to buy some time to process what had just happened. When he turned back around, everyone was moving out the door, making lunch plans and shoving each other.

Except for Swoops and Mashkov. 

“Cap?” Swoops asked, slightly tilting his head toward the Russian.

“Go ahead, text me later if you still want me to come with you and Rosa to dinner.”  
He nodded and headed out, leaving Kent and Mashkov behind.

“So,” Kent started, with no idea what to say next. 

“I’m wanting to say, thank you for trusting,” Mashkov began, rubbing a hand behind his neck. “I am knowing I new, many new Aces. You take chance on us. Was brave.”

Kent, flustered, tried to play it down.

“I just figured it was time, man, I-”

“Me too,” Mashkov interrupted. “Like girls, maybe like girls more, is easier for me if pretend never any boys. Russia,” he gave a little shrug. “But me too.”

Kent was flabbergasted, but recovered quickly. 

“Thanks for letting me know, Mashkov. If anyone gives you any shit about it,” he said, letting the offer lie.

Mashkov snorted. “If anyone give me shit, I take care of it. What you do, tiny Captain?” He smiled at Kent and wow, Kent was not prepared for a full Mashkov Grin®️. 

“Oh fuck you, Mashkov,” he responded. He tried to scowl back and ended up laughing.

“You call me Tater,” he declared. “And you buy me lunch. I’m new, not knowing what desert hellhole food is like.”

Oh no, Kent thought. This might be a problem. 

Over lunch, Tater continued to charm Kent. Mashkov over-gestured when he told stories, laughed too loudly, smiled too broadly. Like he’d never been self-conscious a day in his life. 

Kent, on the other hand, was not only completely unprepared, but his awareness of Mashkov had him off-footed. He dropped his fork (twice! Jesus Kent get it together, he scolded himself) and knocked his hand into his water glass, somehow managed to only slop half of it out over the edge and not spill it completely. 

“So when I get to meet Kit?” Mashkov demanded as the waitress brought their receipt.

Kent, caught off-guard by the abrupt change in conversation, scratched his pen across the receipt, tearing a hole.

“You...want to meet my cat?”

“Yes! I’m following her on Instagram for over a year. Love cats, but Mama has allergies, and she visit a lot when I lived in Rhode Island.”

“I’m sorry, I assumed she lived in Russia.”

“Oh no, mama move to New York many years ago. ‘Little Odessa Odessa enough’, she tell me. She want to be close but still like home. She worry, I think, about me here. No big community.”

Kent stopped and grabbed Mashkov by his sleeve. 

“Hey. I know it’s a big change. If it ever gets hard, if you need help, you let me know. I know a little something about being here all alone, okay?”

Mashkov smiled, small.  
“Not alone, if you ever introduce me to famous kitty. From pictures, she definitely Russian on inside.”

Moment broken, Kent gestured to his car. 

“Do you wanna just follow me or do you want me to drop you back off here later?”

“I follow, try not to get lost. Give me address for GPS in case.”

Kent put his address in Mashkov’s phone, and they got into their cars.

All the way home, Kent was calm in a way he didn’t expect to be. He hadn’t expected lunch to be so easy, to be so fun. And he wasn’t dumb, he was pretty sure Mashkov was feeling comfortable, and he’d go as far as to say they had flirted. But.

But it was still pre-season. They had really just met as people and not opponents. And just because they both happened to like dudes...Kent didn’t want to fall into old patterns simply because he had a connection with a teammate who also happened to fall into the category of “sexually possible”. 

He pulled into his building’s parking garage and sent off an appointment request to Doctor Shenck, making a quick outline in his phone of the situation so he could discuss it with her. He was just finishing up when a knock on his window made him jump.

“I can park there? Space with no number?” Mashkov asked, car idling a row over.

“Yeah, as long as there's no number it's fine,” Kent answered, turning his car off and climbing out.

Mashkov nodded and went over to kill the engine and lock his car, meeting Kent by the elevator.

Kent sent a silent prayer of thanks that the garage had a keyed elevator just for residents and they wouldn't have to walk through the lobby to the main elevators. He really didn't feel like stopping the chatting on his way in today, especially not with Mashkov in tow. He just wanted to be in his condo and feel like he had his feet under him. 

Mashkov followed Kent down the hallway and through his door closely but quietly. Kit was there right when they went in, meowing and winding around Kent’s ankles. Mashkov sank to the floor, crooning gently in Russian and wiggling his fingers. Kit sniffed, then bumped her head against his hand.

Kent's insides twisted funny and he turned away. 

“I'm going to grab a drink, do you want anything?”

Mashkov popped his head up from the cat and said, “Water?”

“Sure,” Kent answered, and walked towards the kitchen. 

He leaned against the counter and breathed deeply. He just needed to get through the next fifteen minutes or however long Mashkov was planning on petting Kit, and then he could get a handle on his feelings. 

He grabbed a couple glasses and walked over to the fridge.

“You want ice?” he called out loudly.

“Thank you, no,” Mashkov rumbled, much, much closer than he'd been earlier.

Kent jumped and almost dropped the glasses. Glaring, he set them on the counter before he could break one. 

“Oh come on, not even little funny? Small scare good, get blood moving.”

Mashkov was still very close. If he put his arms out, he'd have Kent boxed in. Kent both wished and was terrified he would. 

“My blood moves just fine, Mashkov,” Kent muttered.

“Tater,” Mashkov reminded. “Or can call Alexei? Tater for team, anyway.”

Kent swallowed, and Mashkov-Alexei’s-eyes dropped down momentarily before going back up to Kent’s eyes. 

“Alexei,” Kent started, helplessly. 

“Yes, good pronouncing,” Alexei murmured, dipping his head down toward Kent.

“Wait!” Kent yelped.

Alexei backed up quickly. “Sorry, sorry, thought-”

“No, I mean, yes, you thought right, I just-” Kent broke off, frustrated with himself. “Can we sit. Please. Stay and let me talk.”

Alexei headed toward the couch and Kent followed, Kit jumping up to sit on his lap.

“I do want. That. I've had a relationship with a teammate before though, and it really, really messed me up. And I was in a really bad place for a long time because of it. I'm doing better? Like I have a therapist, and she's helping me get my shit together. But I don't know if I'm ready yet, to be in the kind of relationship I want. And I don't want something casual, because I don't do casual,” Kent spilled out, looking down at Kit. 

“Can give me minute? I'm wanting to say things, just need to get them right, important.”

Kent nodded, and they sat side by side, Kit’s purring the only noise.

“I'm sorry,” Alexei finally said, taking Kent's hand and very carefully twining their fingers together. “I'm sorry for bad relationship, and for hurt. Am glad you doing better, because everyone deserve to be happy. I'm wanting relationship. And I'm liking cute and brave and funny man who loves his cat. Maybe I'm thinking this for long time, before trade. So, I'm saying okay, can wait. We can be friends, no problem, no...pressure. And when you ready, when you feel like is time, we talk again,” Alexei finished, nodding decisively. 

Kent laughed, mainly in shock. 

“Are you real? Are you sure you wanna take this on?”

“Is no hardship being a friend. Friend always be good. And I'm thinking you worth waiting to see if more possible.”

Kent leaned back against the couch cushion, hand still clasped in Alexei’s. 

“This is nice,” he said quietly. 

“Is friend cuddle,” Alexei suggested. “Totally fine. Get used to it.”

Kent planned on it.


End file.
